


It's a kind of magic

by alinewrites



Category: Kasabian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I must've written this, a few years ago. I had forgotten everything about it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I must've written this, a few years ago. I had forgotten everything about it.

« Good morning. May the day be filled with blessings for you and your people. »

John Desmond started and raised a confused look on the man standing above him, too tall, too dark, too… He caught sight of the small mark on his wrist and shivered. So they had found them out eventually. He stood up, feeling an unusual weakness in his knees, aware of the sudden silence in the room. Every member of the council had stepped back; conversations had died.

John Desmond swallowed hard. “Mylord warlock,” he said in a voice he wanted not to tremble. “Such an unexpected visit…”

The visitor offered a striking sight. He was tall, abnormally so, and very thin. His long dark hair, the depths of his changing eyes, his short dark beard made him look alien to this country of fair-haired, blue-eyed farmers. For a couple of seconds Desmond wondered if he should maybe kiss the dark Opal embedded in a thick silver ring and remembered in time that such a sign of devotion was for a priest, not a sorcerer.

“I came all the way from Ller,” the visitor said in a deep soft voice, “because a rumor reached the Council that your village had fallen prey to a renegade warlock.” He looked around at the dark walls of the cave where the small community had found an uncomfortable shelter. “I am surprised that you did not call on us for help. It is the usual procedure in such a case. A compulsory one, Mayor.”

Desmond started sweating. He knew he should not have listened to his friends. He should have called the council of warlocks for help at once, instead of trying to protect the boy. He sighed. 

The warlock’s voice was as soft and warm as a summer breeze. Only his eyes and the slight tightening of his mouth belied the friendly tone. He stared at Desmond, unblinking. “I suppose there is a story behind this. I would very much like to hear it.”

Desmond sighed. “Be my guest then. I will tell you the whole story.”

The warlock nodded curtly. “I shall be delighted.”

Such a diner was not easy to arrange. Invitations were to be sent, a huge meal was to be prepared, a decent room to be decorated to host the event… The illustrious guest was led to a relatively spacious and richly furnished room. But as nice as it was it was still a cave and soon the warlock could not stand the confinement and the seclusion. He needed to see the sun and feel the wind on his face. 

Serge walked out, breathing deeply and up the small paths that meandered between the bushes of thyme and rosemary to the cliffs that overlooked the tormented ocean. It had been a long trip to this place – not one he would have taken willingly. The weather had been awful, the tempest never weakening. He had almost expected to see the ocean turn to ice and the ship be driven by the tempest against the rocky coast of the Western Island.

“You have to go, Serge,” the Archmage had told him. “I know you have just been back from a previous mission but every village, every soul is precious to us. If we do not protect our believers, the Church will and soon the New God will have taken our place. We will be forgotten and our art will sink into the depths of oblivion.”

He had bowed to the order of course, and boarded a ship to cross the ocean and reach the western island. The young girl he had seduced into his bed that night had asked him why he did not just change into a cormorant and fly across the sea. He had gone as far as explaining her something that every warlock knew. Serge was powerful enough to achieve such a change but if he did, not only would he borrow the physical form of a seagull or another animal – he would also borrow his mind, his soul and the risk was great to forget his human nature and lose himself in the pleasures of fishing and flying above the waves. Such a risk should not be taken lightly.

Once on the solid ground, he had ridden his horse toward the village. 2000 souls had lived there until they were forced to leave and retire into the caves where their ancestors had lived.

“Did they have a resident sorcerer?”

The archmage had shaken his head. “I couldn’t gather any information. The village is registered in our books as a faithful one so they should have their own warlock but you know how it goes. I suspect it was the usual situation. They have someone there who must be able to handle basic sorcery – healing, protecting the cattle and the crops, changing the weather and such things but when it comes to the real stuff…” he shrugged and did not finish his sentence.

Such unofficial, clandestine sorcerers were legion and the Council of warlocks tolerated them as long as things went well. It was a way to please the local population; allowing them to have one of them as a sorcerer. Better than to land a stranger on them, someone who would be schooled and trained – but still a stranger.

Serge’s job would be to get rid of the invaders, return the village to its lawful inhabitants and choose a fitting punishment for the improvised warlock. Deprive him of his magic would probably do. He was already locked up somewhere in the caves as a punishment for having failed to protect his village against the enemy. It would be, Serge thought, a tedious routine. He was used to that. This time would be no different.

He sighed and rose from the patch of grass where he was sitting. He was about to leave when he heard the laughs. Children were playing a few yards away, near a clump of small naked trees. Serge smiled, watching them as they formed a circle and started dancing around one of the trees, singing a song in piercing voices. “Leina is ten today… Give her a gift, good spirit, give her a gift… Make her happy… Make us all happy.”

It happened suddenly, rising from the inside of the bush, a rainbow of colours exploding in the air and spreading like a giant multicoloured flower above the children who now stood very still, staring up in wonder at the miracle, their mouths open. A soft rustle of silken wings startled them – hundreds of butterflies blossomed on the naked branches of the tortured tree.

When the miracle had dissipated, a last butterfly came to land on the little girl’s hand like a ray of sunshine in the dull weather and she took a step forward. “Show yourself, Thomas Meighan,” she said loud and clear, laughter in her voice. “We know it’s you.”

Serge took a step back when a young man showed up, walking from behind an old crumbling wall, a brilliant smile on his face. The little girl threw herself at him and kissed him on the cheeks as he hugged her. The moment brought back a surge of unwanted nostalgia, reminding Serge of the old times when he was a child and loved to play with his magic. It reminded him his years as a student learning new tricks between the classes to impress the others. With the years he had lost the ability to enjoy this; darkness had pervaded his soul, he realized, and that made him sad for the boy he had been not so very long ago.

When the children were gone the young man stood there very still. Slowly turning his head he saw Serge leaning against the trunk of a tree and shook his head. “You must be the warlock they sent. The council, I mean,” he said, walking toward Serge. “I am Thomas Meighan. I am the village warlock. The whole disaster is entirely my fault.”

He sounded genuinely sorry but despite the grief and the shame he still radiated life, as if he was made of light and happiness. His hair was a mess, falling over his eyes. They had the softness of a young morning of June, and its innocence. His smile, when it blossomed, caught Serge unaware and forced him to smile back. “My name is Serge Pizzorno,” he said, feeling like he was babbling. “The Archmage sent me to assess the situation.” While he talked he realized that he wanted nothing more than running his fingers through that hair and see Thomas close his eyes like a cat.

Thomas stared at Serge for a moment with a look of rapt attention. “Call me Tom,” he said. “Thomas is my old man’s name. We don’t get along so well.” He stretched out a hand and brushed his fingers against the dark velvet of Serge’s long coat, the fur at the sleeves and collar, the golden ornate buttons. A gush of wind made the coat flap like the wings of a raven. The hand ventured higher, touching Serge’s face, tracing his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth, his beard. “You look different from us,” he said. “Different from any man I ever met.” He rested his fingers on the sleeve of Serge’s coat.

“If you’d come to Ller and studied, like you should have, you would have met many others like me.” And eventually you would have looked like us, no matter your hair and your eyes, because the knowledge makes us so.

The hand fell back and Tom looked suitably shamed. “Yes. I guess so.” The contrition lasted for all thirty seconds and the smile blossomed again, shy. “How should I call you?”

I like this smile, Serge thought. I like it very much. “You can call me Serge,” he said.

That made the smile widen.

I want to see more of it.

“Shouldn’t you be kept in some awful jail at the bottom of those caves where your people are forced to live?”

The smile turned mischievous. “I can’t let the children down,” he said. “I escaped. But I will go back willingly, if it is what you ask.”

Endearing, simple creature. “Let’s go to my room. We can talk there.”

The walk back was soothing, despite the rain soaking them and the wind that started to blow more strongly. 

“That man – the warlock who stole our village…” Serge heard Tom’s voice break with emotion. Anger. Grief. Remorse. “He used black magic. I can’t fight that. Even when I knew what he was doing, I couldn’t fight him. I couldn’t protect the people. We ran away.”

Once in the room Serge took place on a worn armchair, his long hands crossed on his knees. Tom sat on a stool in front of him. “Had you followed the rules, you might have been able to fight him. And you would’ve got all the help you needed from Ller. The Archmage is tired of your kind; people who think natural gifts are enough and do not want to bother with studying. In the end, it makes us all look like idiots and I am forced to take the matter in my own hands.” A vision of Jason's haughty look crossed his mind. Had he been in Serge’s shoes, he would have given Tom a memorable thrashing to teach him a lesson or two and for a brief moment he was tempted to do so. Not for the good reasons, though.

“I am truly sorry,” Tom said, looking down at his shoes. “I never thought something like this would happen to us. And Ller seems so far away, so out of reach. Some even believe the city doesn’t exist. That it’s a fairy tale warlocks use to keep us in ignorance and fear. The priests say so.”

Of course they do, the sneaky bastards. “Listen, Tom,” he said. “Ller is the city where all magic is created, improved and learnt. Every gifted one must study there to be granted the right to be acknowledged as an official warlock. It is not good enough to be able to enchant children and simple minds. There is more to magic than that.”

Tom said nothing. The look of devastation in his clear blue eyes was eloquent enough. Serge sighed. ”I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I have no personal interest in keeping you a prisoner.”

Springing out of the chair, Tom took Serge’s hand and kept it in his – Serge felt the tingling of contained, untamed power creep along his own nerves. Very gifted. Such a shame to waste that. 

“Thank you, mate,” Tom said with his disarming smile. Serge should have frowned at the lack of proper respect but honestly, Tom was too endearing and, Serge realized as he kept the warm hand in his, very hot. Innocent and hot – a perfect combination, if used properly.

“I cannot promise anything,” he said, releasing Tom’s fingers.

“I know. It’s just… you are so different from anything I ever imagined. You make me want to try.”

Serge smiled behind his hand and sat back, contemplating the young man. He must be my age, and he looks like a child. Or is it me feeling much tooold? Slowly, he focused, gatthering the energies floating around, heedless of the warning voice in his head. Fuck off, Jason. I’m just having a little bit of fun. When he released his own brand of magic on Tom, he saw the slight shiver that coursed through him, and the sudden glazed expression of his eyes. He was tempted to take advantage – almost did. Something held him back. No. No, this was not the proper way. He wanted Tom to come to him of his own volition. He pulled back, shutting his mind to Jason’s distant admonitions. Tom had to lean against the wall for a couple of seconds, breathless. When he looked back at Serge, his eyes were dark with confusion.

“You are easy, Tom Meighan,” Serge said. But his voice lacked its usual bite and he was smiling.

Tom blushed.

“Go back to your cell and don’t move until I command otherwise.”

After the young man was gone, Serge sat in the chair for a long time, until he was reminded that the mayor and other notables were waiting for him.

The banquet was not exactly sumptuous but Serge had no doubt that the village had gathered all its provision and riches to give the visitor the most elaborate feast they could afford. Of course he would make sure they would be repaid of their efforts. He thanked them politely. His courtesy and quiet conversation impressed everyone and he knew the tales that would keep them captivated. He wanted them on his side; he did what he had to.

Back to his room, hours later, he retrieved the amber globe from his bag and put it down on the table by the bed after making sure the door was locked. Pressing his palms on either sides of the globe he closed his eyes and suddenly he was standing in Jason’s office in Ller, facing the archmage who considered him expectantly. 

“Give the boy a chance, Jay.” He said. “He can become very powerful. I can feel it.”

Jason frowned; his eyes were pools of darkness, his expression pure stone. “Your perception is warped. You want him.”

“I want him but my perception is accurate. I am taking responsibility for him.”

Jason’s sensuous mouth quirked into a grimace of doubt. “You would take a student? You? The warlock who would not mingle with his own kind? The arm of the law? The righter of all wrongs? Become a master for an irresponsible kid?”

Serge did not take the bait. “I am nothing like what you say and Thomas Meighan is my age or so. Besides, I never agreed to take a student because I never found anyone suitable.”

Jason turned to the door. His wife was standing there, listening. Serge bowed to her – she was a woman of great wisdom. She had bred triplets, three absolutely identical children who obviously would be as powerful as their parents. “Why not let him try, Jay?” she said, walking into the room.

“It is lust, my darling. Just lust.”

She smiled at Serge. They had studied together for years. “Sometimes,” she said, “lust turns into more than that; and Serge is right. Tom Meighan is powerful if ignorant of the ways of magic. We need such people.”

Jason sighed. “I need the night to think about it. You will have my answer tomorrow. Until then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Understood?”

Serge nodded. As the room vanished around him, he could still hear Lee’s laugh.

He went to Tom’s room. The door was locked from the outside; there was no guard. Tom was sitting on the bed, playing with a ball, his palms turned up to the ceiling, watching the small sphere trace complicated patterns in the air, change colour. Games. Maybe Jason was right; maybe Tom was just a child. But as he watched the young man he saw how focused he was and how tight the control over the ball was, how subtle the patterns it was tracing. He was barely surprised when the room faded around them and they were standing under the sky, darkness all around them. Above their head the constellations twinkled in the darkness, quiet and so close that Serge felt like he could touch them just by raising his hand above his head.

“Impressive,” he said, startling Tom. Again they were in the room. The ball remained suspended in the air for a couple of second before falling down, bouncing on the old tiles. “Is this how you escaped this afternoon? Did you use magic?”

Tom smiled mischievously. “No. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t know that I can. They left the door open. They are my family, you know. They don’t blame me for failing.”

“I don’t either. Tomorrow we will go to the village and get rid of the… invaders. You will come with me. I want you to be part of it.”

“I will be useless.” 

“Self-deprecation leads nowhere. You must give yourself a chance.”

Tom looked up at him with a wistful smile. 

Back to his room Serge sat on the bed, running his hand over his face. He was a passive man by nature. That was the reason why he had not entered the competition to become the new Archmage, four years ago. Losing his freedom, shouldering such an overwhelming responsibility… Many of his friends supposed that he had been scared at the prospect but the truth was that it bored him to death. Serge was too fond of his own independent way of life. 

That night though, the fire lit by Tom’s last look shattered his usual indolence. The lust burning in his loin was one of a conqueror. He wanted Tom. Wanted his company, his loyalty, his body and his soul. He wanted to give him what he had, teach him what he knew and ride with him for all the years to come. The feeling was so overwhelming and new that he could barely contain himself. He felt like he would run down the stairs to the young man’s cell, throw him down on the narrow bed and fuck him… He had not felt that since Amy. No, he had not felt anything so intense, not even with Amy. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he lay on the bed, wrapped in the black coat that covered him entirely. He did not sleep, losing himself in fleeting dreams, letting his mind wander across the night, fighting his stubborn desire. In the morning he washed up and was ready. The breakfast awaiting him was left untouched. As soon as Tom walked through the door, they left.

The renegade warlock waited for them at the gate of the village.

“I was surprised to learn that they had not chosen you as the new Archmage,” he said. He kept his arms crossed on his chest, defiant and proud. “You were obviously the most qualified.”

Serge took a step forward. Tom followed. 

“Liam,” Serge said. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

Liam laughed. He was dressed elegantly and had an air of distinction about him. But there was something wicked in his eyes, and a malevolent smile stretched his lips. “We were friends once, Serge.”

“Once.”

Liam agreed. Pointing his chin at Tom, he said, “You brought your novice. Good.” Receiving no answer he continued. “I feel honoured, of course, that Ller sent me the most powerful of all warlocks to fight me.”

“It is my job,” Serge said. “Nothing personal. Go away, Liam. These people have the right to live here. Take your whores and your drugs and your friends and go away.”

Liam struck a provocative pose, and smiled. “Why should I? What makes you think you can defeat me?”

“You just said he was the most powerful of all warlocks, mate. So you should know,” Tom said, coming to stand by Serge’s side.

Liam’s smile widened. “Ah but I do not consider myself as one of them. I am so much more gifted than any of them – Serge included. I can defeat him, and all the motherfucking sorcerers of Ller,” he snapped his fingers, “just like this.”

Serge saw Tom look at him. “He tells the truth. Once he was the best of us. And so was his brother. They wasted most of their talent fighting each other. Noel walked away – he was the wiser of the two. There is not much of the old flame left.”

Liam stiffened in anger. As dangerous, as unpredictable as a lethal snake. “You have no right,” he said, “You have no right… I taught you in Ller; things I thought you deserved to know. You were so eager to learn, do you remember? Now, will you dare using these powers against me? Will you?”

Serge smiled. “Try me,” he said.

Tom came closer, their shoulders touching. Liam’s narrow gaze roamed from one man to another. His laugh when it exploded had nothing nice or happy.

He changed form. Serge had not expected this, obviously. It was something he had not seen very often – never in such a situation. It took a minute, maybe less and Liam was not human any longer. An ethereal, monstrous, heavily fanged, thorny-tailed creature with eyes a burning red was staring at them, its mouth open, acid dripping from its tongue. Its tail flapped heavily as it slowly grew to a more impressive size.

“Step back, Tom. Magic is not enough against this,” Serge said, pulling Tom back. “This is… Mental.”

He had no weapon. Only steel could do something, if used the right way. The scale-covered back offered no weakness but the belly did. 

“Do you remember how you were playing with the ball yesterday?” Serge asked, never taking his eyes off the monster.

“Yes,” whispered Tom.

“You need to do the same with a sword.”

“I have no sword.”

Serge traced a symbol with his left hand and the sword materialized in front of Tom. “Take it,” Serge said. “You got to be fast; I cannot maintain the reality of the sword for very long.” He glanced at Tom who had locked his two hands around the heavy gilded hilt. “Now you are going to throw it and kill the beast. The blade must strike it right into the belly with enough strength to cut deep. Understood?”

Tom swallowed hard. “I’m not certain I can do this, mate. I never…”

Serge cut him short. “We have no choice. If you miss, things will become much more complicated. Do it when I tell you. Understood?”

The sword was heavy in Tom’s hand. He closed his eyes and focused like he did with the ball. Just throwing it would not be enough. The monster was now standing further – only magic could propel the weapon far enough, hard enough. The task was more complicated that it seemed. The monster (Tom refused to give it a name) kept changing size and position. Tom saw Serge walk to it with a determined gait. For a moment, the creature kept still, frozen, ready to pounce. 

Tom heard Serge’s voice in his head. “Now!”

Tom exhaled and stiffened, focusing on the blade only and it left his hands, floating in mid-air – then he threw it with all the strength of his mind, closing his eyes. 

Serge saw it dance in the air and swirl, gain speed, air whistling around it, until it reached the dark body. The monster tried to move and avoid it but the sword followed him, guessing his moves. It cut across his belly deep and fast. A shriek pierced the air, the long lethal tail thrashed the ground, flapped. The hideous mouth opened wider, trying to bite and the claws looked for a prey. From the deep wound blood and acid dripped heavily, burning the grass around the dying monster. Eventually he fell to the ground and it was Liam again, his open eyes as dead as those of the fishes Serge used to catch as a child. Turning his head he saw that Tom had opened his eyes and watched with a horrified expression.

“Great job, mate,” Serge said. “I am impressed.”

Tom joined him, stumbling. “I never… I don’t even kill animals. I just…” He threw up on the ground while Serge busied himself, closing Liam’s eyes.

“This thing he changed into…” Tom said, his voice still trembling. “Did you already see one?”

Serge shrugged. “A few of them live inside the cliffs close to Ller. There must be a handful of them. Sometimes we kill some of these… creatures.” He sighed. “Do you see what I mean when I say that turning into something alien means losing its own humanity? As wicked as Liam always was, he was no monster. The thing he became was.” He wrapped an arm around Tom’s trembling form. “It’s OK. It’s over. You did great.” And he kissed him on the hair, feeling how the young man clung to him.

Then he went to the dead man and crouched beside him, staring at the face of someone he had once loved and respected as an elder brother. With a sigh he closed Liam’s eyes and wrapped him in his own coat, laying him on the ground. A last brush against the black hair and he spread his arms, threw his head back and whispered some incantations in an unknown language. The body caught fire like dry wood, burning with high green flames until there was nothing left of the Dark Mage but a heap of cinder. The strong wind dispersed it – all was said and done. “Why did he come here? So far away from his own country?” Serge whispered. “What was he seeking?” Turning to Tom who still stood a few steps behind, pale and sick looking, he thought maybe he had felt an unknown source of power and searched for it. 

“Will you miss him?” Tom asked, coming closer, taking Serge’s arm.

“Why should I?”

“You’re crying, mate,” Tom said. On that, Serge collapsed in his arms and they fell to the floor, entangled, Tom kissing the tears away, whispering words of comfort and love…

“Come with me to Ller,” Serge said. “Come with me and I’ll teach you what I know. You will like it there.” He smiled, ran his fingers in Tom’s hair, kissing his lips, pressing against him. “I cannot leave you now.”

Tom shook his head. “Who will protect the village?”

“I will cast a protective spell on it. It will keep everyone safe until we can send someone.”

Tom seemed to think about it. “Do we have to go to Ller?”

Serge smiled, pushed Tom down to the ground and straddled him, staring deep into his eyes, showing him the city of Ller, a jewel set on the coast of the mysterious ocean, a labyrinth of ethereal buildings and old streets bathed in the golden light of day… “It is a long road,” he said. “You will love it.”

He let him up. 

“You’ll teach me? I’ll be your student then.”

Serge thought about it; thought about Jay’s word. “I don’t take any student. But if you want, you can be my friend, and we will learn from each other.”

Tom laughed. “I like the idea mate. But before…” he pulled Serge to him. “I want you to fuck me. Like you wanted to last night. I want that. Very much.”

They undressed feverishly, reluctant of letting go of each other, mouths and hands roaming. “Tell me you did that before,” Serge said, breathless, against Tom’s ear. “Tell me you did already. That I’m not the first one.”

“Why?” Tom was trembling with desire. “Why is it important?”

“Because I don’t think I can be nice or patient. I can’t. Not tonight.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed. “Take me the way you want to. I’m fine with it.”

Later, when they were done, lying exhausted in each other’s arms, Tom said, “I think I love you, Serge.”

“I know I do. Still… It’s complicated. I have a wife. And a son in Ller.”

Tom nodded gravely. “Of course. I do suppose you had a life before me.”

“Yes. I had.” Serge stretched. “It felt empty sometimes. I was waiting for you.”

Tom kissed him again. “I got only you, mate. It doesn’t matter. You are all that matters. Let’s go to Ller. I'll learn. I’ll grow up. And someday, I can be a great warlock, thanks to you.”

"You already are one. I'll just show you the right path." And let's hope darkness will never seize you. I am not sure I could stand it. 

"Let's go then... Ller is waiting for us."


	2. The archmage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And to my surprise, my hard drive held a second part!

« Master, » the young student said, bowing in front of Jason. “You have to come. The archmage …”

Jason did not need to hear more. He rose from his seat and followed the young woman across the softly lit streets to the tower where the archmage lived. He had lived there himself, ten years ago. She led him up the old spiral staircase . Outside the storm was breaking. It had circled Ller all week, threatening and groaning like an enraged beast. The day had been dark and windy but it had not yet delivered all its power. When it would, the strength of thunder and lightning would strike hard and the more hours passed the more strength it gained, just like the Archmage’s rage that had kept growing all day long. Along the cliffs, the monsters were shrieking, coming unusually close to Ller, sliding along the further walls. A few of them, but already too many. Some had been killed the day before by senior students. One of them, though, had unfortunately forgotten that magic can’t reach the devourers. Even that had not been able to distract Tom from his anguish for long.

The racket could be heard from the lower floor. Heavy things being hurled against the walls. Books obviously and Jason came to hope that the whole library was not being dismantled. By his side the young student looked terrified. “You can go,” Jason said. “I’ll deal with him.”

Jason opened the door and ducked to avoid the whole encyclopedia of ancient spells, written seven centuries ago by Leon Rehgallag… “Careful, now. This one is precious,” he said, bending over to pick up the book before putting it back on the shelves. 

The archmage stood by the huge table where he used to gather his council, his hands clutching the back of a chair that would be his next victim, his long shiny hair like a curtain veiling his face. 

“Don’t, Tom,” Jason said, still breathless with the long ascent up the old stairs. “It doesn’t help.”

He was drunk, Jason knew. He was completely drunk, drugged out of his mind, furious and half-mad with worry. 

“Where the fuck is he? It has been two months now! It was supposed to last a few days. Just a routing check on some places he thought might have left the bosom of the Sorcery, turned to the church. He was supposed to stay in contact. I can’t even reach him, no matter how hard I try, no matter how. All I get are dreams and all I see in the those dreams is snow, snow and more snow. And blood.” He took a breath. “I want him back!” He yelled. “I want him back. I am losing my mind. I can’t live without him.”

Jason cursed silently Serge and his unquenchable curiosity, his endless desire to explore, learn, invent.

“He might be dead or wounded and I wouldn’t even know,” Tom said, and broke down, tears flowing down his face. He collapsed on the chair, his face in his hands.

Jason locked the door. Although it was improbable that anyone would dare come here, it was not something people should see. The Archmage was not supposed to cry. 

“He’s not dead,” Jason said firmly. Serge was tough. He had to be. If he died… He did not even want to contemplate the possibility.

“I know. But he might be any time now. I feel it… How weak. Disoriented… he is.”

Jason didn’t like that but he would be damned if he added his own worry to Tom’s. “It is Serge we are talking about. He will be back. He will. I am certain of that.”

Tom raised a ravaged face. Grief made him look young and scared like a kid. “Lucky you. Listen, if he’s not back on Sunday, I’ll leave. I cannot stay here any longer waiting for…” he shook his head and sighed. “You can take my place as the Archmage. I’m not so good at that anyway.”

Such was not Jason’s opinion, nor anyone’s in Ller. “You won’t have to. He’ll be back. Now I’d like you to go back home and get some sleep. You need it.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Come on, Tom! Stop being a child! When you are rested, we can make a search. You and I together, I am certain we can find a way to locate him.”

Tom nodded and stood, staggering like a drunk man. “I’ll go see Amy. She must be mad with worry.”

Jason’s idea was that Amy could do without Tom’s comfort but he didn’t say it. He watched as Tom wiped off his tears with the back of his hand, ran his fingers across his hair and sighed. “Thank you for coming, Jay. I really needed that.”

Jason nodded and watched Tom leave.

***********************

Snow. Cold. Blood oozing from his wounds, making him dangerously weak. He had just jumped down from the tree where he’d slept. He was hungry. He was too weak to hunt. If he did not hunt he would starve to death… Too weak... Must go home. The idea slowly formed in his brain, expanding to push aside any other consideration. Home. What was home? Where was it? He started a slow, hesitating advance in the powder snow. Above him heavy clouds gathered again. More snow soon. More cold. A river he might be too weak to cross. Walking along the stream. Upstream the waters were shallow and slow – freezing. He could walk across. On the other side he shook himself and sniffed the air, searching the scents beyond the snow. Home. Eat first because the road was long still until he reached… It was only an image, an incomprehensible image in his mind but it made his heart beat faster. Home was where the bright lights were. But where the lights were men were. Hunters. Those who had hurt him, almost killed him. It almost made him give up. 

But he had to go home.

*************************

Tom woke up in the middle of the night… Something was scratching at the door. It took him a moment to understand that the sound was real, that it was not just part of the dream. He jumped on the floor, grabbed his boots, his coat and opened the door. Nothing.

The night was deep; the moon and the stars sparkled brightly. The storm had finally receded. In front of him the snow-covered fields shone like diamonds under the full moon – the contrast was blinding. When he finally managed to accommodate, summoning the magic light to dispel the darkness, he made out paw prints in the frozen snow. Big animal. Blood stains, a trail on the snow. He heard a low growl on his left by the barn where he stored the wood. When he pointed the magic light there he saw a blurred white form by the locked door. He walked up to it and the growl deepened. More blood on the snow. White bare fangs flashed shortly in the light. 

His heart pounding in his throat Tom knelt in the snow, heedless of the cold. He sent a wave of reassuring warmth. No hunter, no prey. Friends. I can help. The animal curled up against the door and growled again but more weakly. Animals were easy to keep away, to fool, to push away but much more difficult to calm down. Wary. Scared. Tom stretched out his hand and started to talk, long chains of words that sounded like a melody, his voice deep and seductive like a purr. Basic magic.

Slowly the animal walked out of the shadow towards him, frozen snow crunching under his weight. Tom forced the fear away. The beast was huge, with sharp fangs and a thick blood-matted white coat. Once it was close enough, once Tom was able to touch it, use the spells and the incantations, the animal lay there, exhausted. He called for Jason, sending out a mental cry for help. He could see now how weak the animal was, how close to giving up. He could see the wound and the blood. He could feel the tiny sparkle of remaining humanity weakening somewhere inside the primitive brain.

He rested his hand on the big head. “Hey mate. Don’t give up on me. Stay with me. It’s ok. We’re going to get you safe. We’re going to heal you.” He heard Jason’s footsteps behind him and turned his head. 

“Serge?” Jason asked.

“Yes. We must take him inside. I can’t lift him alone. He’s too heavy.”

“There’s a first for everything,” Jason said. The animal bit his hand when he grabbed him but he didn’t let go. They lay him on a table – he still had enough strength to bare his teeth. “A saber tooth snow tiger…” Jason said. “How could Serge do something so careless?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said, stroking the white fur softly. “But he’s not going to do it again for a while.”

**************************

It was warm and secure where Serge lay. He moved his limbs experimentally to make certain of what he was. Human again. He pressed the nape of his neck against the arm supporting it. “Thomas Meighan,” he purred. “I love you.”

Usually, such a declaration would have earned it Tom’s brilliant smile and a long embrace. This time he only got those blue eyes fixed on his face. It was enough for Serge to understand that something was wrong.

“Do you know how long it’s been since you left?” Tom asked, pulling Serge on top of him, running his fingers in his long dark hair.

“No. I somehow lost any notion of time.”

Tom snorted. “You could say that. Two months. Eight weeks. Sixty two days. You. Left. Me. For. Two. Months. You. Bastard.” He punctuated every word with a soft bang of his forehead against Serge’s forehead like a playful bull.

Serge stared at him, dumbfounded and very worried suddenly. “You’re joking, right? It can’t have been that long.”

Tom’s silence was enough of an answer.

“By the mother of all magic. I remember visiting a village – I’d gone a bit further north than expected. They don’t like magic much in the white mountains, you know. The people there are different. Wilder. It is a wonderful place, really. At night the air is so pure that you feel the stars very close and more brilliant than anywhere else…”

“So of course you decided to become a white tiger. Just to get a kick out of it. Something you keep warning the novices here because they might be trapped in the animal mind and lose your human identity. Something you warned me again repeatedly for years when I was your student.”

Serge sighed, kissed Tom on the mouth. “I came back.”

Tom pushed him away. “Barely. Do you have any idea of the amount of magic I had to use in order to heal you? I thought I would be forced to resort to black magic.”

Serge grabbed him by the chin. “Never! Never even think of it, Tom! You would lose your soul doing it.”

Tom pulled away, stroked his short beard he had neglected to shave amongst his misfortune. “That’s rich coming from you mate… Like you don’t know I’d do anything for you. Losing my soul seems very little compared to losing you.”

Serge closed his eyes with an expression of deep suffering. “Don’t, Tom. Don’t say that. No one is worth losing one’s soul.”

“You wouldn’t do it for me? Use the dark arts if they could save me?”

Serge opened his eyes again and stared at him, his eyes bottomless pits of despair. “May I never face such a terrible choice.”

“I faced it last night. Fortunately I managed to save you.” Tom’s voice trembled. “But…”

He stopped talking, unable to go on, shaking his head, his expression pure misery. 

This was the man who had kept the armies of the Church away by creating a web of illusions so convincing that they had rushed headlong into the trap and got drowned into the ocean, certain until the end that they were about to reach the mythic city of Ller, when it actually stood hundreds of miles away. Just a shadow. A lure. How could they not trust what they saw? Some of their best spies had been there undercover; they had walked the streets and talked to people… The same man was now sobbing against Serge shoulder, trembling under his hands as they traced the familiar outlines of his lover’s limbs.

They made love – what else better to do? Words were useless; both knew where they’d been and what they’d done. They made love for days, only taking some rest when their bodies could not take any more. 

Tom lay awake in the tight embrace of his lover’s arms, the softening cock against the crack of his ass. He had said once that this was the second best moment in his life; Serge’s restful breathing against the nape of his neck, Serge’s body wrapped around his own, the satiation, the soreness. 

This time was different. Although Tom enjoyed a bit of roughness, things had gone much further. Serge had been fierce in his love making, closing his teeth on the skin at the nape of his lover’s neck and not letting go, drawing blood, his hands like claws on Tom’s flanks. Someone else could have mistaken it for passion, the need to reassert himself after so many days spent alone but Tom knew better. Well, Tom didn’t know better maybe but the archmage in him did. For two months Serge’s soul had been inextricably entangled with the soul of the animal he had chosen to become and it would be weeks before Serge’s brain would manage to get rid of the most primal instincts of the beast. The tiger had been part of the lovemaking. The tiger was still in Serge and there was a danger there – what it Serge liked being a tiger better than being a man? The thought scared Tom. He sighed and pressed himself harder against Serge’s lithe body. The growl against his ear, the sharp bite, made him shiver. 

************  
“So I did what I had to,” he told Jason later. 

Jason sighed. “You see now why Serge could not become the Archmage? It would have been a unreasonable choice.”

“He’s more powerful than I am.” Tom said.

“His powers are different. You are the most gifted warlock I ever so and you dedicate yourself to the job. This is something Serge wouldn’t do. He would need to explore further and further and jeopardize himself, and us. Serge is not a shepherd. He is a lone wolf. And for all I love him, I would not entrust him with the safety of our community.”

Tom thought about Jason’s words for hours. He would entrust Serge with his life, his soul and Serge would do the same. He could not conceive his life any other way.

******************  
Serge spent three days with Amy, not leaving the house. She did not have a single reproachful word, did not preach. She had known from the first day who she was marrying. “A sorcerer’s wife is a widow,” so the saying went. 

On the fourth day he ventured away from Ller, going as far as the Large Mountains. The sharp, snowy range marked the border between the Ller and the Northern Realm. Snow still covered the path, the sky was a cold clear blue. A perfect day. He decided to cross the river and walk up to a close peak from where he would be able to survey the wide barren high plains where herds of wild horses ranged the hundred miles separating the mountains from the hills and the closest cities. He felt it as he set foot on the wooden bridge across the river. He could never take the second step. It was an invisible wall he could not pass, or a leash pulling him back mercilessly.

Serge tried again, trying to get around the spell with some of his own, trying to force his way across the thick wall of magic blocking him, trying to unravel what had been so tightly twisted and entwined.

He failed. He had to bow to a superior brand of magic. It made him feel half angry, half proud since he was the one who had taught the Archmage how to better anyone, including him? He had kept some of his talents secret, of course, for they were too dangerous to pass on anyone but they would be useless in such circumstances.

As he walked back, anger took the better of him.

“We had a deal,” Serge yelled at Tom that night after Jason had left. They were sitting in what had been the Archmage’s office since the building of Ller, nine centuries earlier.

Tom looked away from Serge’s furious gaze.

“Look at me, Thomas Meighan. We had a deal. Do you remember?”

Reluctantly, Tom met his gaze. “Never hold each other back,” he mumbled.

“Exactly. What do you think you’re doing?”

Tom fidgeted on his huge high back chair, ran a hand in his hair. “I’m doing my job. I’m keeping a warlock from doing stupid things. Forbidden things. Deadly things. This is what I’m doing.” He shrugged. “I’m not saying I like it.”

“You can’t do this… And just not warn me,” Serge said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tom.

“Did you warn me that you had decided to turn into some tiger and die in the snow?” Tom said. And turning away he added. “It’s only temporary. Even I can’t maintain such a spell on you for more than a few days.”

In the light of the lamp Serge saw Tom’s profile, half-hidden by his long hair that looked almost incandescent. He stepped up to him. “Are we truly quarrelling over this?”

Tom looked at him. Serge saw the devastation in his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have much of a choice when I did it. It was that or dying at the bandits’ hands.”

“I know.” Tom sounded immensely tired. “You know… You could’ve tried the master spells. The ones I gave you. The ones no one can resist. Not even ten men from the White Mountains. And anyway, we both now you were much too far north. And also we know that curiosity is the bane of the most gifted sorcerers. What I’m trying to tell you is that I wouldn’t like us all to end like savage animals roaming the plains. You taught me that we were meant to take care of humans, protect them. Is it what we are doing? It is so much easier to laze around, turn into an eagle and have fun, search for more powers, more knowledge. You said the biggest danger was to lose interest in our task. It’s what many of us are doing. It’s what you’re doing, mate! Meanwhile the church is in every village, every field, helping the people. Taking our place. Someday we’ll be here, locked in Ller and we will have lost any notion of the reason why sorcery exists. It makes me sick. Sometimes I can see the future. What I see is no fun at all.”

Serge stood very still. That must have been the longest speech he had ever heard from Tom in fifteen years, except maybe the one he delivered the day he accepted to become the Archmage – but it was a ritual speech; he only had to read it. This new facet made Serge slightly uneasy. “Who would’ve said you would become the wisest one?” he said softly, pulling Tom to him and pressing their bodies together, his chin on the top of Tom’s hair. He kissed it. “I am sorry, truly. It is right that I somehow succumbed to the exhilaration of being the tiger. I should have ended it immediately. I will accept gladly any punishment you will see fit.”

Tom pushed him away softly and smiled. “I can see all sorts of them.” He shook his head. “But right now I only want to sleep. With you. Just sleep and be certain that you’re not leaving for weeks and that when you leave I am certain that you’ll be back shortly.”

Serge grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back close. “You don’t have to give me a new assignment for a while. I will spend some time teaching if you want. I can stay here. By your side.” He kissed him. “I love you.”

The next day Tom was walking across the terraces next to the school, listening to the whisper of the waves that came dying at the bottom of the marble stairs, Jason and Ian by his side. Ian had been approached by Tom himself as a very gifted the senior student. He would be the next archmage when Tom would retire, in three years. It was a moment Tom both wanted badly and feared. He was not certain how he would deal with his new life then. Would he go back to his village and take the job as the local sorcerer? Would he stay in Ller and be a lifelong researcher? Would he travel the world, helping people? What would Serge do? Because in the end, all he could think of was following Serge.

Jason’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “You can’t tame Serge for very long. I don’t give a month before he’s champing at the bit like a wild stallion.”

Tom sighed. “Like I don’t know that,” he said, smiling at a group of sorcerers who waved back with affectionate respect. “Is it why he never was chosen as an archmage?”

Ian shook his head. “Such a waste of talent, that.”

Jason nodded. “It’s the main reason,” he said. “That and the fact that he’s so reluctant to be in the light. Somehow, he is the most talented of us all…”

“Hey! Last week you said it was me,” Tom said, frowning.

“I also said he was differently gifted.”

“Yeah. True. You did.”

Jason nodded, amused. “He might get away of any situation. But he’s not exactly the role model for an archmage.”

They sat on the bench above the narrow strip of sand the ebb tide was rapidly abandoning like a retreating army, leaving tiny shells behind and small crabs that hurried back to the shelter of the waves. A huge tortoise was trying to go down the steps, clumsy and heavy, unused to the ground it was treading. The giant marine tortoises lived in the ocean but from time to time some of them would lay their eggs in a retired place near the library, next to a small brackish-watered pond – probably they had done so long before Ller was built – and then would be unable to rejoin the waves. Tom rose, picked up the big animal that didn’t even care to hide in her carapace, feeling how trustful the human was. Tom put it down where the waves licked the sand, watching it as it slid down to meet the calm waters of the occidental sea. Only Jason could see the rune he traced above the disappearing form – protection, strength. He smiled. Tom’s unfailing compassion and love for anything living was one of the most endearing sides of his nature. He was not, maybe, the most focused warlock in Ller but he certainly was the most charismatic and the most loved, not only by humans. Had he been religious, Jason thought, he would have been a saint. 

Tom turned and their eyes met. “They have a soul, these animals. I can feel it. I wish they hadn’t so that the devourers would leave them alone. They are only interested in soulful creatures.”

“Which is probably why they don’t attack us,” Ian said with a smile, as Tom turned to him. They laughed.

Coming back to the earlier topic – Tom could navigate in conversations like a small boat between islands – he said, “Serge is the embodiment of freedom and audacity. I love him for that, among other things. I know he will leave again. I only wish he didn’t jeopardize his own life for no reason. Only, I can’t really tell him how much I love him, so I frown at him like this…” He made a face that was supposed to terrify his companions, but promptly stuck his tongue, causing them to burst in laughter. “and I scold him but actually I am just worried because if I lost him…”

He didn’t finish. Jason looked away while Ian smiled warmly. They watched as the sun sank slowly into the ocean. Tom sat there late in the night, until Serge joined him. They walked back home together to the Archmage’s house, Serge’s arm around Tom, the most powerful protection Tom had ever known.

What the future held in store for them though was nothing they could have imagined.


End file.
